


i've got my love to keep me warm

by NaroMoreau



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Love (Good Omens), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cock Warming, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dildos, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Just Sex, Let them be happy and have all the sex, M/M, Married Couple, No Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sex Toys, Snowed In, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wet & Messy, Wings, and intimacy, wingasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau
Summary: It's been five months since the almost Apocalypse and Aziraphale and Crowley spend their lives together in the South Downs. It's winter and they get snowed in.Luckily, they have each other to entertain themselves.Just a post-canon slice of life.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 353
Collections: Good Omens OTP Prompts Event Works, Ineffable Holiday 2020, Top Aziraphale Recs





	i've got my love to keep me warm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the OTP Prompt Event of the events server. 
> 
> This is my first fluff and smut so I have to thank my lovelies [caedmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon), [hanap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanap/pseuds/hanap), [afhyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afhyer/pseuds/afhyer) , [saretton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saretton/pseuds/saretton) and [quiltedspacemittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiltedspacemittens/pseuds/quiltedspacemittens) for their cheerleading and encouragement.  
> 
> 
> And to my betas, the amazing [TawnyOwl95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95) and [Hatknitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HatKnitter) who made this better 💕

Winter falls over the South Downs softly, like silk over the land, silver-hued and beautiful. This doesn't mean Aziraphale isn't currently miffed at the sudden climatic oscillations.

"Now, this is absolutely preposterous," he huffs because the weather should _do better_. 

He sneaks a sour glance at the old grandfather clock as if the thing had personally offended him, chiming seven o'clock. He'd made dinner reservations for that night and, as things were progressing, it was entirely possible that they would miss them.

It's been almost five months since they’ve been living here. Five months of perfect bliss that finally, _at last_ , had hushed all of Aziraphale’s regrets and stilled the bustle of his mind telling him they would never, _could never_ have this. 

But they had, _they have_ , and Aziraphale's heart hasn't yet recovered from the first, tentative, terribly desperate kiss they'd shared.

He can hold Crowley close at night, fingers buried in that thick, long, red hair, hands on that warm and soft body, unashamedly bare. Whispering all the hundreds of words he thought he would never get to say, earnest pleas hidden in yellowed pages of poetry books Aziraphale has read and cherished, always thinking of him. He picks apart sonnets and verses while making love to Crowley, pouring words that are old and true and have aged like wine, luscious and rich, but it's never nearly enough...

… because he wants to give Crowley _everything_. 

Every little thing he has imagined, every little absurd flick of intimacy – from baking together, a bread whose recipe Aziraphale had stored with a speck of hope since before the Ark ( _I asked Sarah for it, my darling_ , he says to Crowley one morning, cheeks floured, _I saw how much you liked it when we were in Ur_ ), to squabbling about the unnecessary washing up, to the privilege to see Crowley's gold-bright eyes, unguarded at the break of a dawn that's always pink and quiet, sliding in, tired and yawning, over their windows. 

And today was supposed to finish with a very nice dinner Aziraphale had planned, in a very romantic bistró in town, until they were detained by the moody weather, that is.

Blast.

"Ridiculous," he mutters.

Sitting on Aziraphale's lap, side pressed to Aziraphale’s chest, Crowley squirms. 

"Mmm." He burrows deeper into Aziraphale, snuffling into the hot spot of his neck, and hums, sleep-drunk. _"Whatssat_?"

Aziraphale glances at the bay windows, a hand skating under the hem of Crowley's (which is really _Aziraphale's_ ) soft blue jumper, dipping his thumb past the waistband of the lacy black knickers he’s wearing. He watches the world outside succumb to swirling lines of snowflakes being blown by the wind, tiny specks of diamonds no one treasures enough. 

"This… storm. It's rather unusual," he says, holding his book with one hand, circling the thumb of the other over Crowley's hip bone. 

They've been sitting in the plush comfort of the Chesterfield for almost an hour now, while the storm unfolds and turns into a relentless blizzard. 

"'S winter," Crowley rasps against Aziraphale's throat, the words crushed with a kiss that always has a lot more tongue than necessary. Not that Aziraphale would ever complain. "Don't see anything weird 'bout that."

Aziraphale places his book on the table at his side. "But the weather forecast said nothing of the sort."

"C'mon, Angel, you really going to complain about the accuracy of the bloody weather channel?" Crowley asks with a smirk Aziraphale can't see, but hears nonetheless. "Might as well toss a coin to know what's coming. One of your thrupennies, while you're at it."

Aziraphale glances outside one last time where the blizzard is now so thick they could well be living in one of those quaint crystal snow globes.

"Oh, it's no use," he says, turning to Crowley. "Oh, my dear," Aziraphale weaves his fingers through Crowley's hair, bringing his forehead to Crowley's temple. He breathes in that edge of sandalwood and oranges, the cinders of a bonfire, "I had planned such a delightful evening for you, and now everything is ruined."

"Who says that? It's always good when I'm with you. Haven't I suffered hours upon hours of those absolutely dreadful magic shows only 'cause you like 'em?" It’s rather nice to hear, Aziraphale must concede, but doesn't address his point entirely. "Honestly, Angel, I couldn't care less where I am, as long as your fussy bastard arse is riding shotgun."

Aziraphale skims his hand under the jumper, up smooth, hot-blood skin and settles it around Crowley’s waist. "Charmer."

"'S the truth."

Aziraphale smiles against Crowley’s lips and kisses him, presses every bit of his hunger against that warm, wet mouth that always falls open so sweetly, so easily. It always tears Aziraphale's insides to ribbons. Crowley melts against him, cradling Aziraphale’s head in his hands and when Aziraphale pulls him tighter, he emits a string of those gut-twisting little moans that always render Aziraphale useless. Drive him just a little mad.

"I love you terribly, _dearheart_ ," he says, because he has been silent long enough, and the words always manage to untangle some of the knots close to his heart. He kisses Crowley's jaw, his cheeks, the bow of his lips. 

"Love you, Angel o'mine," Crowley breathes, shakily. "Just hope you plan to finish this. And by _this_ , I mean _me_ . Just sayin’. ‘Cause otherwise you’re gonna have to deal with a messy discorporation on your Persian rug. Aziraphale, seriously, I’m _dying_ here. _"_

"Patience, my darling one, patience is a virtue," he murmurs, yanking the jumper off him. 

"Ngk. Yup. Demon, 'member?" Crowley gasps, a shocked sort of breath high in his throat, when Aziraphale kisses a bruise in the slope of his neck. " _Fuck_ ! _Angel…_ "

Aziraphale has always been weak for it, for that long sweep of smooth skin that has taunted him for millennia, peeking from robes and togas and dark cravats. 

And now the need to mark it, outweighs him. 

He sucks the pale skin, drawing it red and swollen, like an expert brush on a virgin canvas, feeling the flex of muscle underneath when Crowley cries out. Tight sounds ringing out from his mouth. 

_Mine_ , says on the bruises for the world to see.

He draws away, rather pleased with himself, watching the glistening sheen of his saliva over the dappled flesh. 

Crowley tugs at his shirt with sheer urgency and not less amount of annoyance. "Bloody layers. _Angel_ , why are there so many layers?"

"I have standards of the highest sort," he replies, primly, over Crowley's indignant huffs.

Aziraphale runs a hand down Crowley's side, over the divots of each rib, settling it on the soft curve of his arse and his cock twitches at how well Crowley fits in his handspan. A matched set in every single way, they are. "Let's get you comfortable first, shall we?"

He easily manhandles his husband, who gives a yelp that Aziraphale knows he'll deny later, and sits Crowley astride him. Just a slip of a thing, shivering, with eyes glazed. 

"Swear to someone sometimes I forget you're so bloody strong. _Nngh_ ," Crowley breathes. " _Christ_. Not gonna get used to this anytime soon."

He looks at Aziraphale with such an inordinate amount of love it skewers Aziraphale through. And Aziraphale wants to say, _me neither_ , because the sight of Crowley's lovely, flushed, beautiful body pressed so closely, so _intimately_ against him will always make him feel completely unraveled.

It's like having a feast where every single plate caters to the needs he's built through the millennia, and Aziraphale doesn't know where to start. Should he nibble the pink, tight nipples, the concave curve of Crowley's stomach, chase the line of freckles down his chest, or rake his teeth across the stark line of his clavicles.

"Oh, my love, you are _ravishing_."

“You’re one to talk, Angel. Look at you, absolutely beautiful. You've always been,” Crowley says, eyes darkened. He rolls his hips, tipping them up in invitation against Aziraphale’s cock. “I’d have you all day, every day. Fuck, can’t take my hands, my mouth, my cock off you, Angel.”

Aziraphale noses down Crowley’s pulse spot, to kiss at the dip of his neck, adding just a bit of tongue because he knows how much it drives Crowley wild. “Greedy little thing you are, aren’t you, my darling?”

“ _Ngk_ . Didn’t hear you complaining last night with my mouth on your clit. Or this morning with my cock in your arse, you bloody hedonist.” Crowley smiles all serpentine now, fangs and split tongue very clear between thin lips. "I believe your words were, _'Oh, Crowley, harder_.'" 

His thighs grip Aziraphale's hips tighter, not even a handbreadth between their chests, and Aziraphale can't help but remember all those times when the space had seemed insurmountable, unbreachable. 

Fanning out inescapably.

“I'm not complaining. I would never,” Aziraphale says, a little breathless, his blood thudding in his veins. “I’m afraid you’re quite stuck with me. No return address, so to speak. Although you could always call that charming UPS fellow, I think he'd know where to send me."

Crowley huffs a laugh that turns into garbled noises at the back of his throat the moment Aziraphale grips his hips, settling him down hard on his erection. Aziraphale knows he's leaking, dripping on khakis that are now ruined, but he can't even bear to think of moving away from the smooth dip of Crowley's waist, from where the muscles are pulling under his fingertips with every intake of air. He needs to get his clothes off, rather badly. 

"Now, you're cheating," Crowley says, pulling at Aziraphale's waistcoat as if reading his mind. “No hiding from me, dove."

Crowley snaps his fingers and Aziraphale's clothes find their occult way off his body. 

"Fiend." He jerks Crowley's hips down, making both of them moan, just the flimsy excuse of Crowley's soaked knickers between them. 

The lovely cunt he’s chosen this time, hot and sopping wet. Aziraphale feels absolutely ravenous.

"Oh, _Angel._ "

Crowley supports his weight on Aziraphale's knees, the lean line of his body arched back, hips hitching back and forth. The sight knocks the air out of Aziraphale's useless lungs and he's so hard it's painful. He slides flat palms across every rib, teasing Crowley's nipples, thumbs brushing over them until they're dark and wonderfully peaking. 

"You're _gorgeous_ ," Aziraphale says.

“Are you gonna let me sit on your cock, then?” Crowley makes a sound that inches to a moan. "Promise you, Angel. I'll fuck you _so_ good."

Aziraphale is very in favor of it, and his cock as well, judging by the fresh drool of precome on his stomach, but the night is still young. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

Crowley grunts his annoyance but grinds his pelvis against Aziraphale's cock, rolling his hips as if he were riding him. He hisses, a loud, wild thing, and Aziraphale gives a breathless exhale that barely masks the wanton moan beneath. There's not much else he can do but watch, enthralled, as if this was a temptation... certainly, of the sweetest kind. His hands grope at the swell of Crowley's arse, manicured nails digging into the meatiest parts of his cheeks.

Oh, Lord. He _wants_ _so much_.

It socks him right in the jaw, at a different angle each time – the scope, the weight of this love he's harbored for Crowley, probably since they met at the Wall, and has tailspinned ever since, growing and taking more room inside him until there's no part of him that makes any sense without it.

Without _him_.

"There's nothing in this world I wouldn't give you," Aziraphale says, aching inside. "You know that, don't you?" 

Crowley stills, curling long, delicate fingers around Aziraphale's neck, and brings their foreheads together, kissing him.

"And there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, _mon ange_."

The lights above flicker, then, sucking the room into darkness. Probably the blizzard.

Aziraphale groans, absolutely vexed. "Oh, come now," he says plaintively, because he adores having the lights on when they're like this. So much to see. So many things he needs to learn and discover. "Must you?".

"I didn't do anything,” Crowley pouts, the smooth curve of his freckled shoulder catching the light of the fireplace.

"Not you, my darling, the weather!" Aziraphale says. "It should _know_ better by now."

Crowley laughs, clear as a bell, and Aziraphale laughs as well, because there’s snow outside but it isn’t cold in here, and he has his demon finally in his arms, and his kisses taste sweet in Aziraphale's mouth. 

“I should make it better, if only for our neighbors,” Aziraphale says, his laugh tapering off to comprehensible speech. "Poor things."

“Wot. Nah. There’s no one for miles.”

“I certainly doubt the blizzard knows about limits. It must be a bluster from here to Brighton.”

“Leave it, Angel.” Crowley kisses his neck, peeking his tongue to brush it against skin before sucking. Probably leaving a mark. “It’s just a bit of snow.”

“Regardless,” Aziraphale manages, I’ll only bring it down a tad.”

“Angel-”

Aziraphale snaps his fingers, but the snow continues falling, the wind roaring, unperturbed. He frowns, and snaps both hands this time, but nothing happens.

“What on _Earth_?”

He gazes up, and finally realizes Crowley’s smiling, lips drawn tight, with that very sly curl of mouth he reserves for when he has done something he’s quite proud of himself. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

Aziraphale squints. “Was it you?”

"No?"

" _Crowley…_ "

"For my money, 'twas just a bit of snow." He rests his cheek against Aziraphale's shoulder and snaps his fingers, to which the sluish of snow decreases considerably, but the light doesn't return.

"I _knew_ it wasn't normal." He spans the skin of Crowley's back with his hand, craning his neck to kiss Crowley's forehead. "Why, my dear?"

Crowley mutters a jumble of consonants before saying, "'Cause I was pretty damn comfortable where I was and I didn't want to move."

The proverbial lightbulb moment dawns on Aziraphale. "The reservations," he says.

" _Yeahhhh_. Please don't be mad."

"Oh, I would never. How could I be mad at you?" He urges Crowley to face him, and tilts his chin up to meet his eyes. "Oh, you silly creature. You really need to polish your communication skills, my darling. If you wanted to stay, why didn't you say so?"

"Ngh. 'Cause you wanted to go," Crowley says, and even in the dim amber of the room Aziraphale can see a lovely pink stealing onto his cheeks. "And you were all, _mpkh,"_ he weaves his hands about the air in the outlandish gestures that frankly comprises some sixty percent of his language repertoire.

Aziraphale understands everything. As he always has. As he always will.

"Only because I wanted to… to _woo_ you."

Crowley takes his face in his hands, their noses almost brushing together, and Aziraphale is faced with serpentine eyes, gold and brilliant. "Aziraphale. _Angel._ Consider me _wooed_ . Pretty, fucking astoundingly _wooed_ , me. You've had me wooed since the bloody wall of Eden."

Crowley kisses him, hard, deep, allowing Aziraphale to taste him to his heart's content. After all Crowley's a feast just for him.

Outside the window, the windswept snow draws twirls of scattered snowflakes to their doorstep. 

Aziraphale smiles, his hands on Crowley's hips, bucking against him, his breath slightly ragged. "This storm… reminds me of–"

"Copenhagen," Crowley finishes, speaking over Aziraphale's mouth, their foreheads touching. "Froze down to my very bollocks."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, was it? The city was lovely."

"We should go back," Crowley moans, his voice just punches of air, while he pushes his hips down on Aziraphale's lap. "Rekindle the memories. Christen some places. Have a proper fuck this time, just shag our way all over Frederikksstaden."

"You miscreant." Aziraphale kisses the corner of Crowley's mouth, a hand tucking auburn curls behind his ear. "What year was it?"

"1732? Thereabouts."

"Do you... _remember_?"

Crowley outright laughs at that, the exquisite angle of his reddened throat squeezing out the sounds. "Course I do. You can't be serious. We _shared_ a bed. I thought I was going to bloody discorporate, with you all pressed up against me. Fucking gorgeous. Wanked myself to that memory for a century."

Aziraphale feels his face burning hot at the image. Crowley, palm flat against a wall, tugging at his cock, hard and desperate, cravat undone, all the sinuous line of him wrecked by shudders spilling all over the floor. Calling _his_ name. 

Aziraphale’s mouth goes a little dry.

"I may have harbored less-than-angelic thoughts about the things I wanted to do to you there," Aziraphale grates out. He kisses over the peppered red crescents on Crowley's neck, his gut stirring as he admires the work of his mouth. "You." Another insistent suck over the roll of Crowley’s throat as he swallows. "Lying next to me. Looking every bit the tempter you've always been."

"Only for you, Angel," Crowley keens with sudden intensity. As if there were any doubts, and the heat in his eyes sets Aziraphale aflame, his skin hot as if he might burn away. "Only ever for you and _no one else."_

Something treacly and heady runs in Aziraphale's veins, because even a wayward image is enough to make his blood run hot with jealousy, and he doesn't want to remember the many times he'd to bite off his rage at propositions made at Crowley by humans during six thousand excruciatingly long years. 

He thinks that if that would happen _now_ , he might lose all sense of control and would end up smiting the pillocks.

Because Crowley is as much _his own_ as anything would ever, _could ever_ be. 

"Yes, my love. Only for me," Aziraphale says, with ferocity, digging his fingers into Crowley's thighs. "Only mine."

" _Yessss_ ," Crowley moans, winding his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, his long fingers sliding one by one into his hair, "only ever _thine_."

Aziraphale presses his mouth against Crowley's already-swollen, red-stung lips, and pushes his tongue inside, to where it's warm and wet and always tastes like home. There's a rush of air when Crowley briefly pulls back, tipping Aziraphale's head up to lick and swipe his tongue over Aziraphale's jaw, his chin, and with every sweet and loving drag Aziraphale feels years discounted from that past filled with regrets and hopes he thought useless. 

Aziraphale draws back and watches. He watches Crowley struggling to get his next breath. Watches Crowley's face, the pink of his cheeks and the need written in his pupils. He watches them both from afar, finding their way in this jigsaw puzzle of freedom, and his heart thumps in gratitude because he has his demon, and the thought clicks into place. 

_His_. His very own.

"Wot?" Crowley asks, because Aziraphale must look like a besotted fool, slack jaw and starry-eyed.

"Oh, but you're stunning," Aziraphale says finally, drawing his hands to the front of Crowley's knickers, pulling the ruined damp fabric aside, setting it there with his thumb, "and you've been so very naughty."

Crowley whimpers when Aziraphale trails his fingers excruciatingly slowly along Crowley's thigh, a brush that's not nearly there, up to where his cunt is open and hot and wet. Waiting. Clenching around nothing. 

His own cock, hard and leaking a mess, jerks against his abdomen, and by a will that he has cultivated through millennia, he's able to restrain himself from coming right then.

"An absolute demon," Crowley moans, clutching Aziraphale's shoulder so hard his fingers dig in the flesh. He pushes his hips down, as if trying to take Aziraphale's fingers inside him, desperately.

"A fiend,” Aziraphale breathes."I believe I need to thwart you once more."

" _Satan_ ." Crowley's almost squirming in his lap while Aziraphale just teases his wet folds with the barest of brushes. It's enough to make Crowley groan. "Yesss. _Please_. Fuckin' thwart me."

"Come now then, dove," Aziraphale says, his voice rough and dark in his throat. "Budge up, your back against the armrest."

Crowley climbs down and for a second Aziraphale is viscerally tempted to grab him by the hips and just bury himself hungrily into that wet heat in one glide up to the base and just fuck him senseless.

But he isn't a brute. 

He grips the root of his flushed cock tight, restraining his hunger while watching Crowley position himself: spread open, the curve of his chest with the stark ribs and the dip of his stomach working wide with every intake of air. 

Aziraphale kneels between his thighs and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his knickers, feeling his need desperately pawing at his insides. 

"May I?" 

Crowley nods and licks his lips. "Knock yourself out."

He can see Crowley's hands resting at the sides of his head, deliciously pale against the crimson of his splayed hair. And what a privilege it is to see him like this, throat flushed red, legs trembling delightfully, minute quivers on his goosebumped flesh. 

The sight is captivating and Aziraphale can't control the thready exhale that shoves out of his mouth.

Aziraphale rolls Crowley's knickers down, pressing feather-like kisses as he goes, to the arch of his sharp hip, to the swell of his thighs, to the hard bone of his knee, feeling himself swaying in Crowley’s closeness, in his warmth and his scent. Finally the thing is past his feet and out of the way.

He places a hand over the jutting bone of Crowley's hip, trying to still him. "Are you going to be a very good boy and take what I'll give you?"

Crowley seems to have renounced words, just nodding furiously, eyes owl-wide and liquid. Aziraphale grabs one of the many tasseled cushions Crowley had decided to impulse-buy one day and nudges it under his bum, canting his hips up to him.

"I'm going to eat you out now," Aziraphale says, lowering to where Crowley's cunt is hot, pink and glistening. "Be a dear and try to be still. Can’t have you squirming while I’m trying to devour my treat, now, can I?"

"You're such a bastard, you know- _FUCK_!"

Despite Aziraphale’s words, Crowley arches off the sofa the moment Aziraphale gives a broad stroke of tongue over his outer lips. Aziraphale can hear the moan torn from his own throat when he tastes Crowley's dripping sex. It's _divine_.

“Oh,” Crowley grunts, “fuu- ah, _ah_!”

Crowley’s hands weave through Aziraphale's already messy curls, clutching hard, almost painfully and Aziraphale pulls back a bit running the pad of two fingers along the folds. The salty tang of Crowley’s spilled need pools on his tongue. 

"Oh, my darling," he rasps, his voice slightly unraveled around the edges, spreading the slick all over with his fingers and shifting closer to Crowley’s slit. "You're completely soaked, such a lovely cunt you've made for me." Aziraphale kisses Crowley's inner thigh, hot breath tickling over the gaping center, watching Crowley tense, his throat jerking as he swallows desperately. "Absolutely beautiful, so open and ready. I could eat you out for hours. Would you like that, my love?"

Crowley groans, and Aziraphale’s heavy cock spurts a dribble of precome that will probably stain the sofa. So messy. So human. Something to remember this by. Miracled away, remaining underneath. Never truly gone. 

He tugs softly at the swollen folds, now licking the outline of Crowley's labia in earnest, and the rumble in his chest is proof enough he’s enjoying this as much as his husband. Crowley lifts one leg and rests it on Aziraphale’s shoulder, the coarse hairs brushing against the side of his neck. He’s shaking, spine bowing, and Aziraphale curls his fingers, dipping gently inside Crowley while his tongue whirls over his clit.

Crowley almost chokes. "Yes! There! Fuck, Angel, there!"

"Oh, _darling_." Aziraphale spares a glance to where Crowley is, bitten-mouthed and panting heavily. "You're exquisite."

Crowley throws his head back, hissing when Aziraphale finally replaces his fingers with the dip of his tongue, his hand forming a v, pressing Crowley’s inner lips apart. After all this time, he knows exactly how Crowley likes to be tongue-fucked. 

He hears Crowley swearing in a quilted sentence of languages no one else on Earth could identify while his legs tug open even wider. Aziraphale opens his mouth slack, meeting Crowley's rocking hips, his tongue curling along Crowley's walls while his hand tickles and presses fingers inside him, his thumb always on his clit. 

"Fuck! _Angel."_

There's a grating noise coming from Crowley's throat, some sort of bitten-off version of Aziraphale's name. Crowley's very hot inside, and Aziraphale eats him, wet and insistent and for a second he wishes his tongue was as dexterous as his husband's. 

He pulls back, sweeping a wet slide from Crowley's vulva, down to his taint, pressing, _pressing_ and dipping into his arsehole. 

Aziraphale's stomach twists, burns with unsated need, and his breath cracks on a moan when the muscles of Crowley's arse clamp on him. It's such an intimate display of trust, so simple yet absolutely life-turning. Much like all human things. 

Crowley goes absolutely wild, pulling hard at Aziraphale's hair, while Aziraphale slips in and out and in again, everywhere a slick mess of them combined. 

"Tell me if it's too much, dove," Aziraphale says, still fucking Crowley with his fingers. 

"No, no. _Keep- going_ . Fuck. Just- _Please_." 

Aziraphale slides inside Crowley's arsehole again, and can feel tiny spasms along Crowley's thighs, his spine, the edge of his rim clenching around his tongue. It's maddening to think of the heavy weight of his neglected cock pressed between his body and the sofa. Of how much he needs to be _inside_ Crowley.

He forces the thoughts aside and lets Crowley ride his fingers, his tongue, while he pushes deeper past the tight furl of muscle. He slides one finger in Crowley's arsehole, replacing his tongue, while he licks the slick path up to Crowley's cunt again.

"Come for me, Crowley. Come, on my tongue, dearest, I've got you."

Crowley goes into a riot of hisses and whimpers while Aziraphale finally fucks him with his tongue, deeper, one finger up his arse and his thumb pressing against his swollen clit, the squelching sounds and Crowley's whines lewd and loud in the silence. 

With a full body shudder, Crowley comes, his walls twitching, clutching desperately around Aziraphale's tongue, around his finger. There are half a dozen pulses of Crowley's hips before he goes completely lax and Aziraphale laps at the gush of liquid streaming out as if trying to slake a long-held thirst. 

He shoves the aching throb of his cock that _begs_ for release, out of his mind.

"Fuck," Crowley rasps. "You're _too_ good- too good at this, Angel."

Aziraphale stares up at him stunned, over his worked-out cunt, over the expanse of his rippling muscles working wildly, all of him strikingly beautiful and undeniably his.

He smiles. "You're so very delectable my darling, it's just impossible to resist."

Aziraphale kisses his way up, one wet, fat press of lips over Crowley's navel, up his chest to his hard nipples, just at his pulse spot, hearing Crowley give shaky gasps at each touch.

He clasps Crowley's hand in his and adoringly kisses the wedding band, meeting Crowley's unfocused gaze, before pressing their lips together.

There, at home. At last. 

Crowley releases a moaning breath, arching into him, prying Aziraphale's mouth open with wet, eager presses of his tongue. Aziraphale knows he's tasting himself there.

"Oh, dear heart," Aziraphale chokes out, pulling back. Crowley is still panting, his eyes dulled by a blurry haze, and it's evident by the puffy state of his lips he has bit them hard in his pleasure. He’s an absolute vision. "You don't know what you do to me."

Crowley’s gaze is lost to the middle-distance, to something far away, until he blinks and heaves a breath.

"I want your cock inside me," he pleads. He surges up, giving Aziraphale a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth. There's a slick, glistening thread stretched between their mouths, when they part, that finally breaks when Crowley speaks. "Make me take it, Angel. Fucking _wreck_ me." 

Aziraphale’s blood rings in his ears, his body strung so tight all his sinews feel afire, his cock bobbing painfully against Crowley's thigh, greedily drooling pre-come. 

"Bedroom, then," he manages, with a rough whisper.

"Ngk. Yeah. Can't do. My legs are bloody useless."

There's not much thinking involved in what happens next. Aziraphale slides a hand under Crowley's bum, another around his shoulders and carries him, with single-minded purpose in each stride amidst Crowley's sputtering disbelief. He reaches their bedroom quickly and places him gently on their bed. 

"On your hands and knees my beautiful one," Aziraphale says, tracing a finger over the line of bruises on Crowley's neck. "I believe your request was to ‘make you take it’."

Crowley gives a full body shudder, but crawls up on the bed. He rearranges himself, drawing his legs closer to his stomach, opening his knees wider, hands flat on the sheets. 

He glances back and gives Aziraphale a very devilishly grin. 

Aziraphale shuffles quickly to their nightstand, retrieving the pump bottle of lube and the dildo Crowley had gotten them a while ago, before joining him on the bed. 

"Now, my darling," Aziraphale says, rubbing a hand over the sparse swell of Crowley's firm arse, giving a little squeeze and making Crowley groan. "Sloth is, after all, a sin, so I believe it's time you work yourself a little."

"Wha-"

Aziraphale coats the dildo in lube and offers it to Crowley by the base.

"Satan, every time I think you can't surprise me anymore…" He takes the toy in his hand and Aziraphale can hear the clicking wet of his throat as he swallows. "How do you want me?"

Aziraphale groans in relief, taking himself in hand. He slicks his cock up and drags the flushed head along the cleft of Crowley's arse, a hand opening his cheeks. 

"I'll fuck your tight, little arse, I think, and you can make yourself useful in your sweet cunt. Is that alright, my darling?" He kisses the space between Crowley's shoulder blades watching him dip his head between his shoulders.

"Fuck. Yeah. Whatever you want."

He sees the sinuous line of Crowley's spine rippling, curving in a deep U as he works his hand between his legs. A little desperate, moaning when he finally pushes the toy inside him. 

Aziraphale almost doesn’t recognize the sound coming from his own mouth as he watches his demon fuck himself on the hard, black silicone. Something halfway between a groan and an expletive, just the barest tint of a growl. 

" _Please_ \- ah - please, Angel. I need _you_." Crowley’s free hand fists the comforter while his arm bends at the elbow under a firm thrust. 

"Ah, look at that," Aziraphale moans, his heart hammering away. He adds a trickle of lube to Crowley's rim, thumbing his arsehole open, watching his beautiful demon already half-delirious in the throes of his pleasure. "That's it, my darling. Sing for me, sweetheart."

He gives a few good, wet pushes into Crowley with the thick pad of his finger, before taking in a steadying breath over Crowley’s pleas and his cries, sounds he never thought would be so familiar. Digging so deep into Aziraphale’s heart. 

He curls a hand on Crowley's hip, feeling the demon going still, pliant and open while Aziraphale pushes the fat head of his cock against the sucking heat of his rim, watching it give in to the intrusion. He wants to wait, to do it slowly, to savor every bit of the maddening tightness, of that scorching heat, but Crowley shoves himself back against him, taking every single inch of Aziraphale's erection inside him, arse cheeks flush with his pelvis. 

"Ah, _God_ , Aziraphale."

Aziraphale sinks his teeth into the plush pillow of his lower lip to steer himself to the swell of sensation, a punched out moan escaping him. It’s as if Crowley knew how wild it drove Aziraphale wiggling his hips like that, as if Crowley knew exactly how easy would be for him to push Aziraphale over the edge and was dead set in doing so, the wicked thing. 

Aziraphale drinks in the sight, the two of them joined, tangled-up and knotted into one another, so close together they could well be just one. 

And Aziraphale loves him. He _loves_ him. 

Crowley whines weakly, a cracked thing pouring out of his lips, mingling with Aziraphale's moans, and pushes himself back, grinding desperately, making Aziraphale go impossibly deeper. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Crowley sighs, completely broken. “Stay there. Just- _ah -_ don’t move.”

“Heavens, Crowley,” he groans deep, breathes Crowley’s name and he knows he couldn't sound any less adoring. “You’re so _tight_.” 

“Yeah, and you’re so fucking _big_ and then some.” Crowley takes one slow, intake of breath. “‘S alright. You can move. _Please, move_.” 

Aziraphale hoists Crowley's hips up and feels the exact moment the unyielding silicone slides in his cunt, nudging against his cock through a thin wall of skin. He growls low in his chest, an all-consuming want thrumming in his veins that needles him to kiss Crowley. Anywhere. Everywhere. Down to the last freckle in the play of golden skin of his back. 

He lunges forward, trying to place a kiss on the ridge of Crowley’s shoulder blades, just a taste of sweat-dewed skin but the movement nudges his cock deeper into Crowley making him jolt and cry out. 

"Make me…" Crowley tips his chin up, a wild push of the dildo into his cunt that Aziraphale can feel, starkly so. "Make me take it."

Something hot and tight boils inside Aziraphale and he thrusts his hips hard, smacking Crowley's arse. It’s bliss. Torture. The need to take and take, to savour selfishly, feeling his orgasm building rapidly, as it always happens when he has Crowley like this. He pushes Crowley forward, but almost instantly he's kicking his hips back, rocking while Aziraphale clutches the dip of his waist and eases him back on every inch of his cock. 

"Fucking _Hell_ ," Crowley whines, absolutely a mess, face pressed against the quilt, hand working desperately in his sex. "More. _Harder_."

Aziraphale fucks him deep, just like Crowley begs him to, angling his thrusts to hit Crowley’s prostate. His cock pulses, achingly, desperate for release but Aziraphale clenches his jaw and keeps going. He's rewarded with a high-pitched wail when he rolls his hips and forces Crowley back on his cock again.

“ _Fuck_.” Crowley tilts his head back. “Just like that. C’mon.”

" _Dearest_ ," Aziraphale moans, and it’s nothing short of a whimper. " _Dear_. Is this what you need?"

"Christ. Yes. _Yes_ !" He shouts under a hard shove. "Fuck me, Angel. Come inside me. _Please_ , come in me."

 _Dear God_ , it’s difficult to hold back. But he can’t come. _Never before him_ , Aziraphale chastises himself, _absolutely not_. 

Aziraphale sets a bruising pace, quick, hard pushes of his hips, while he spreads Crowley's cheeks apart so he can watch Crowley stretch open every time he buries himself to the root. Probably not the best idea, because the sight pushes him too fast to his climax. 

He’s too close. That feeling of inescapable bliss, running high and deep and ever present. 

Crowley looks beautiful beneath him, pink dappled skin wherever Aziraphale can touch, the wild fire of his hair falling on the sheets as he squirms and arches and sobs in pleasure. And Aziraphale knows there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this gorgeous demon who loves him. 

The air in the room is almost humid, stifling, and Aziraphale’s heartthrobs escalate with each hard stroke of his thighs against Crowley’s delightful backside, rutting mindlessly and desperate as if he hadn’t had Crowley ever before. Aziraphale’s restraint is evaporating, fizzling out, and just when he thinks he can’t take this any longer Crowley’s hand stops between his legs. 

There's a crackle of energy, a swoosh of air and Crowley's wings sprout from his back, warping reality in their onyx black splendor. Miles of inky feathers draped at the sides of their bed, shimmering under the moonlight coming from the bay windows. Crowley wails over the clattering of a lamp knocked to the floor by the shudders that ripple his feathers, his arsehole clenching viciously around Aziraphale's girth.

Aziraphale will _never_ get used to that image.

“An-angel, _fill me up_ ,” Crowley whines, then. “I need you. Want all of it."

The arousing command is all it takes. Aziraphale pitches forward, hands viciously digging in Crowley’s hips and gives two full thrusts, jostling Crowley forward, his feathers ruffled and twitching under the assault. Aziraphale comes with a low, drawn-out moan, spilling inside Crowley in thick pulses, withdrawing at the last second to paint a streak of come across his buttocks, across the dimples at the small of his back. 

It's filthy and so very satisfying watching his come dripping down Crowley's thighs, leaking out from his arse, painting the pink lips of his vulva with a pearly sheen.

All of him, a sloppy, beautiful mess.

Crowley whimpers at the loss and rolls his hips, his slick, loose hole spasming around air, and he’s shaking. His wings flexing. 

He watches Aziraphale over his shoulder, dazedly and breathless. 

He looks perfectly debauched. 

Aziraphale brushes a hand over the small of his back, over the silky softness of a feather. "Thank you, my love,” he pants, from the exertion of his climax. “That- that was lovely,” he kisses the dip of Crowley’s spine, trailing a hand over the smooth shape of his demon, down the emerald sheen of his scapulars. “Would you tuck your wings away? As beautiful as they are, they’re a tad inconvenient.”

“Yeah. Hold on.” There’s another sizzle of energy while Crowley arches his back, before they’re gone. “At least you didn’t jizz them this time around.”

“I told you it was an accident,” Aziraphale blushes. “I got carried away, and I just- I couldn’t resist myself.”

Crowley tilts his head to the side and gives him a sharp smile. “Relax, I’m not complaining.” He falls on his stomach with Aziraphale pinning him down on the mattress. "Only complaint, you didn't fill me up here," he says, sliding a delicate hand underneath him and palming his dripping cunt.

Aziraphale laughs and maneuvers them so he's spooning Crowley, kissing his shoulder, the nape of his neck, the sticky sweaty mess of his hair. "I think we can manage something."

He scoops the cool spunk on Crowley's body and coats the head of his half-hard cock with it. He lifts Crowley's leg, opening him up.

"May I?"

Crowley looks back and nods, biting his bottom lip while Aziraphale slides in where Crowley is wet and hot and still tight.

"Better, you fiend?" Aziraphale asks, and can’t hide the moan as he sinks into Crowley, oversensitive as he is. 

"Oodles," Crowley hums, pressing himself back, craning his neck and kissing Aziraphale's red lips. 

“You’re terribly demanding, you know that?” Aziraphale let his hands brush over Crowley’s hips, his waist, before settling them over that heart that beats for him. “An absolute brat.”

“Too high maintenance for you, Angel?”

“Never.”

Aziraphale nuzzles his neck, relishing the smells of sex and sweat and _home_. The moonlight makes Crowley a disservice, leaving shadows and spaces of his body untouched for he’s made for the light and the sun and Aziraphale will never get tired of reminding him so. 

They stay like this, basking in the silence, in the warmth of pressed skin, safely tucked in each other's arms and Aziraphale realizes he's exactly where he was always supposed to be, standing on the only point of consistency in an ever-changing world. He smiles to the empty room like a lovestruck fool.

"You could stay," Crowley says when Aziraphale starts to pull back. 

His eyebrows leap to his hairline. "Inside you?"

"Yeah. Feels nice."

 _Mercy_. This demon of his will kill him. His arousal thrums low in his veins and he knows he will be facing a raging erection soon. 

"Then I'll stay here, my love," he says over the riot of his cartwheeling heart. “You have me.”

“I have you,” Crowley echoes. 

Outside the storm rages again. 

Aziraphale miracles the mess away, except the drops of semen deep in Crowley's cunt. Just a bit of him shared and freely given. He pulls the quilt over the both of them draping an arm around Crowley’s waist and can’t help to remember a wall. 

A stretched, downy wing under a relentless downpour.

Six thousand years, and they’re finally at the other side. 

What a wonderful world to live in.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading 💕
> 
> Hmu on [Tumblr](https://naromoreau.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Or if you want, come and let's yell into the void on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xenoscientist/) 💙


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